“Now I take this piece of crap to the dumpster, go back to my place and get a decent furniture dolly. And a pair of boots.” He grabbed the dolly and walked out of the room, slamming the door as he went.

Letty sighed and sat down on the bed beside Maya, who’d witnessed the debacle. “He got a bad boo-boo,” the child whispered.

“Not that bad,” Letty said. “He’s just being a big crybaby, that’s all.”

When he returned twenty minutes later Joe was wearing dusty work boots. He wheeled the dolly into the room. “Let’s try this again. Go slow, okay?”

The second time went much smoother than the first. He wrapped the strap securely around the washer. She pushed the washing machine onto the dolly, its weight shifted, and he was able to roll it out of the room with comparative ease. He followed suit with the toilets and the remaining mattress, and when he came back from the dumpster he carried a crumpled brown paper sack, which he thrust at her.

“What’s this?”

“Peace offering,” he said, his voice gruff. “You were right. It was an accident, and I shouldn’t have blamed you. Definitely shouldn’t have cussed in front of a little kid.”

“Nothing she hasn’t heard before,” Letty said guiltily. She opened the bag and pulled out a bottle of chilled white wine and two plastic cups.

“It’s screw-top, because I figured you might not have a bottle opener, but it’s not cheap screw-top.” He shoved his hands in the back pocket of his jeans and looked at her uneasily. “You drink, right?”

She smiled despite herself. “I’ve been known to.”

He held out another bag. “This is for your little girl.”

It was a pint bottle of chocolate milk. “Her name is Maya.”

“I knew that,” he said, bristling.

“That’s nice of you,” Letty said. She held up the bottle and showed it to her niece. “Maya?”

“Chocolate milk!” Maya snatched the bottle from Letty’s hand.

“What do you say?” she prompted.

Maya was busy trying to remove the plastic seal from the bottle’s neck. “Thanks.”

“Yes, thank you,” Letty said, remembering her own manners. “How’s the toe?”

“Hurts like a mother.”

“Well,” she said, feeling uneasy. “Guess I better get back to work now.”

“What about food?” he asked.

“Ava gave us a late lunch,” Letty said. “I’ll hit the grocery store in a few minutes.”

“Mom wanted me to check the fridge, to see if it works,” he said, pointing to the kitchenette area just outside the bathroom door. There was a single-bowl stainless-steel sink, which was piled with a jumble of sixties-era electric percolators, and as advertised, an apartment-size refrigerator sitting beneath a chipped Formica counter that held two electric burners.

“I’ve been so busy clearing the place out, I haven’t even gotten to the kitchen,” Letty admitted.